You think Arthal Merindar wants to be queen, then?" I asked, and again thought of my letter and why she might have written it.
Unbidden, Shevraeth's words from the day before our departure sounded in my head: "…but you'll still be approached if you seem even passively my enemy." Cold shock made me shiver inside when I realized that the Marquise of Merindar might have attributed my refusal to come to Court to unspoken problems between Shevraeth and myself--which would mean her letter was meant either to capitalize on my purported enmity or to make him distrust me.
So did he?
"What is she like?" I asked.
"Like her brother, except much better controlled. She's the only one of the family who is still a danger, but she very definitely is a danger."
"She might be saying the same of you," I said, resolutely trying to be fair. As before, I had no proof, and last year I had gotten myself into trouble for making quick judgments based merely on emotions, not facts. "Not that I think all that much of the Merindars I've met so far, but they do have a claim on the throne. And their marquisate, like Renselaeus, takes its name from the family even if it isn't nearly as old."
It was impossible to read his expression. "You think, then, that I ought to cede to her the crown?"
"Will she be a good ruler?" I countered, and suddenly the shock was gone. My old feelings crowded back into my head and heart. " don't know. Why are you asking me? Why does my answer make any difference at all, unless showing me this letter and asking me these questions is your own way of making a threat?" I got up and paced the length of the room, fighting the urge to grab something and smash it.
"No," he said, dropping his gaze to the papers on the desk. "I merely thought you'd find it interesting." He leaned forward, dipped the point of his pen into the ink, and went on writing.
The argument, so suddenly sprung up, was over. As I stood there watching that pen move steadily across the paper, I felt all the pent-up anger drain out of me as suddenly as it had come, leaving me feeling tired, and cold, and very, very confused.
Unbidden, Shevraeth's words from the day before our departure sounded in my head: "…but you'll still be approached if you seem even passively my enemy." Cold shock made me shiver inside when I realized that the Marquise of Merindar might have attributed my refusal to come to Court to unspoken problems between Shevraeth and myself--which would mean her letter was meant either to capitalize on my purported enmity or to make him distrust me.
So did he?
"What is she like?" I asked.
"Like her brother, except much better controlled. She's the only one of the family who is still a danger, but she very definitely is a danger."
"She might be saying the same of you," I said, resolutely trying to be fair. As before, I had no proof, and last year I had gotten myself into trouble for making quick judgments based merely on emotions, not facts. "Not that I think all that much of the Merindars I've met so far, but they do have a claim on the throne. And their marquisate, like Renselaeus, takes its name from the family even if it isn't nearly as old."
It was impossible to read his expression. "You think, then, that I ought to cede to her the crown?"
"Will she be a good ruler?" I countered, and suddenly the shock was gone. My old feelings crowded back into my head and heart. " don't know. Why are you asking me? Why does my answer make any difference at all, unless showing me this letter and asking me these questions is your own way of making a threat?" I got up and paced the length of the room, fighting the urge to grab something and smash it.
"No," he said, dropping his gaze to the papers on the desk. "I merely thought you'd find it interesting." He leaned forward, dipped the point of his pen into the ink, and went on writing.
The argument, so suddenly sprung up, was over. As I stood there watching that pen move steadily across the paper, I felt all the pent-up anger drain out of me as suddenly as it had come, leaving me feeling tired, and cold, and very, very confused.
( Sherwood Smith )
[ Court Duel ]
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